


Good Days, Bad Days

by QED_Scribblings



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad boy Graves, Gen, Hogwarts AU, Schoolyard fights, hufflepuff graves, though not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-16 23:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11263356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QED_Scribblings/pseuds/QED_Scribblings
Summary: After picking a fight with one of the Principal's favoured students, getting (pretty much) expelled didn't come as a huge shock to Percival.Likewise, getting sent on to Hogwarts as a result, his mother's school, wasn't that surprising either.Getting sorted into Hufflepuff was a bit unexpected - but what's life without a few odd turns? A new country, new school, new friends and rivals... what could go wrong?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kallistob](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/gifts).



> You guys can blame Kallistob for this one, for sending me an ask in the middle of the day about Hufflepuff!Graves and stoking the fires of my imagination!

Percival Graves was not in a good mood. He was grumpy, tired, and sore - both from the thrashing he’d gotten before his _ not-expulsion _ and the beating he’d copped from Donnelly and his gang, which had prompted it. 

He didn’t regret it. Even if his parents hadn’t managed to blackmail Principal Wilkins into letting them pull him out of Illvermorny, rather than having him expelled, he still wouldn’t regret it. Or at least, he didn’t regret the fight. He  _ may _ regret not getting a few more punches in before he was dragged off the bullying cowards. 

He shifted on the spot, looking around the cavernous, circular room of Headmaster Dippet’s office.

“You may sit if you like, Mr Graves,” said the teacher (no, professor. That would take some getting used to) lingering by the Principal’s desk.

Percival looked down at the chair at this side and grimaced a little. He shook his head. 

“If it’s all the same, I’d rather stand, sir,” he replied, wincing at the thought of sitting  _ anywhere _ for the next little bit. Wilkins was notorious for his skill with a cane afterall, and Percival had no doubt he’d be bearing scars on his arse to remember why that was. The bastard. Still, didn’t regret it. 

The teacher/professor/whatever hummed, an amused twinkle in his eye as he leaned against the desk himself. 

“I imagine it was quite the fight?” he commented dryly. 

Percival shrugged, rubbing at his nose (still mildly tacky with blood) as the corner of his split lips twitched up in spite of himself. 

“Six against one,” he said simply. “Bit embarrassing really…  _ for them _ .”

“Quite,” the professor replied. “May I enquire as to what compelled you to violence?” he asked, pushing his half moon glasses up a crooked nose (which Percival didn’t comment on, but stored away as evidence, in case this conversation turned into a lecture of any sorts. He might have just gotten a lashing for brutalising half a dozen of his senior housemates, but he certainly wasn’t going to get condescended to about fighting from a guy who’d obviously thrown-down at some point in his life). 

Percival lifted his chin, defiant, before replying, “I generally don’t stand by and do nothing when six seniors whale on a 11 year old for no reason, sir. If they wanted a fight, they should have picked on someone their own size. As it was, I was the closest guy to  _ their size _ on hand.”

The teacher arched his brow a little at that, then smiled (which baffled Percival, but there were worse responses he figured). 

“Indeed,” he replied. “I think you’ll be a very nice addition to our school, Mr Graves.”

He smiled and laced his fingers in front of him, quirking a brow mischievously. 

“I do hope you join our quidditch team. Gryffindor could do with a decent beater.”

A small, uncertain smile slowly curled the corners of Percival’s lips. 

“Thank you, Sir,” he said. “Is that how it’s done then? You just… get assigned a house?”

“No no, we’ve got traditions of our own here,” the other man replied, smiling. “But sometimes you can pick a student before they’re sorted,” he said, eyes twinkling. “I hope you like scarlet and gold.”

Percival scoffed. 

“Well, it’s not that different from wampus colours I guess,” he replied, rubbing at the back of his neck as the office door swung open. The headmaster and his mother walked inside, having clearly wrapped up whatever discussion they were having about him outside. 

The corner of his lips twitched when his mother gave a quick wink behind the old man’s back, pressing a finger to her lips. 

“Mr Graves,” the man greeted with a far deeper and more regal voice than his rather frail appearance would lead one to expect. “You’ll be please to hear that your mother has pled your case quite convincingly.”

Percival nodded, his eyes darting briefly to her, standing by his side, before reluctantly focusing back on the old wizard before him. He didn’t quite know how to respond. Should he acknowledge that he was pleased, risking the assumption that Dippet had bought it and potentially inviting a lecture? Should he keep his silence and risk appearing insolent? Was he supposed to plead his own case now?

“Mr Graves, you needn’t look so concerned,” the other professor chuckled. 

“No, certainly not,” Dippet replied, an Percival was relieved to find the man’s expression warming somewhat. “No, though somewhat shortsighted, it does appear that your actions were quite noble.” He shot the man at his side a despairing, though decidedly amused look. “I daresay there’s no question as to which house you’ll find yourself in, is that right, Dumbledore?”

“I expect so,” the other man, Dumbledore, replied. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure just yet, gentlemen,” his mother laughed, a conspiratorial smile on her face too. “Percival here has some hidden depths to him, I’ll have you know.”

Percival blinked, glancing skeptically around at the three of them. Tugging uncomfortably as his ear, he looked between his mother, then Professor Dippet, before asking, simply for clarifications sake (they all seemed to be talking about it like some forgone conclusion), “So… I can come to Hogwarts then?” 

“I see no reason why not,” Dippet replied. “Understand, of course, that we do not abide mindless brawling here. Brutish thuggery is not a quality we admire in our students. But nor do we embrace bullies and those who abide such behaviour. By all accounts, I expect you will be a fine fit with our school.”

Percival ducked his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. Well, that was that then. He had to confess, he did feel a bit better about everything now. The whole expulsion thing hadn’t exactly sunken in properly, not yet, but now that it was all taken care of he couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of relief wash over him. Though he didn’t regret stepping in, nor how he did so, the thought of having to be homeschooled from that point on hadn’t been entirely pleasant. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, but it would lead to people asking questions. When they did so, the answers wouldn’t necessarily paint him favourably in years to come. And that, in itself, felt far too much like a win for Donelly. 

No, attending the school his mother went to as a child, that was far more respectable. And he couldn’t deny, he’d always been a bit taken with the place. His father’s tales of Illvermorny had always set his heart alight with excitement. He’d been yearning to go for as long as he could remember, and now he knew he could never go back… well, that hurt. 

But it was offset, just a little, by the thought of coming to Hogwarts, the place that had always captured his (sometimes recessive) sense of wonder. 

“You’ll like it here,  _ mo chuisle, _ ” his mother said softly, squeezing his hand. 

“I know,” he replied, shooting her a quick smile, before turning back to the two professors. “Thank you. I’ll not make you regret your decision, Sir.”

“Oh I’m sure we can expect great things from you, Mr Graves,” Dippet replied, smiling, before heaving a deep sigh and shaking his head. “Another Gryffindor though. Scamander’s year too.”

“Well let’s get him sorted before we despair too much,” his mother laughed, rubbing Percival’s back as the headmaster nodded. 

“Of course, of course. We must go through the formalities. Albus.”

“Here we are,” Dumbledore replied, handing over a raggedy old hat to the headmaster. 

Percival arched his brow, looking between it, the man, and his mother. 

“Am I supposed to… do something with that?” he asked. Immediately the picture of the hat transfiguring into a little leather lion or eagle in his hands sprung to mind. Or perhaps flushing the appropriate house colour... something like that. But that seemed so… childish. Illvermorny had grand statues that bid for a student’s allegiance, and that had all been modelled on Hogwarts, had it not? Surely it had to be something a bit more… well, quirky perhaps, but  _ impressive _ . 

“Yes you have to wear it, darling,” his mother laughed, patting his cheek and nudging him over to the headmaster, who was chuckling himself. “Perhaps he’s a Ravenclaw like you Leena.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s got the brains for it, but I don’t think so,” Leena replied with a smile, before nodding for Percival to take the hat, then put it on, which he did with a rather dubious expression on his face. 

He would have appreciated a bit of a warning about the damn thing talking. 

“Now don’t fret,” the voice in, or rather around his head commented (really quite smarmily) as Percival hastily caught, then replaced the trinkets he’d knocked into the air after jumping back into the bookshelf that stood behind him. 

“Ah, a challenge, how fun,” he chuckled as Percival stilled, his fists clenching and unclenching uncertainly at his sides. So this was it then was it? A hat would figure it out. Bizarre, but somehow it fit the idea of the whole place that his mother had given him as a child. He had heard the school song, after all. Yes, it definitely fit. Perhaps the sense of grandeur Illvermorny exuded was more of an American influence.

“Clever thing, aren’t you?” the hat mused. “Observant too. An auror in the making, like your father and father before him. That will require brains. Courage, and a good deal of nerve. You’ve got that in buckets. Ambition as well, and resourcefulness. And,  _ my _ , loyalty too? Determination. Merlin’s beard, Mr Graves. You’re quite the full package, aren’t you.”

Percival’s brows arched (though that was hidden entirely by the hat).

“So, you don’t know where to put me?” he asked. 

“Oh, I’ve got some ideas,” replied the hat. “Tell me, what’s more important: being an expert on a subject, or knowing enough to get by?”

Percival paused for a moment.  He didn’t remember having to do a quiz to get sorted to Wampus. 

“Yes but I’m not sorting you into Wampus, Mr Graves.”

Percival sighed, rolling his eyes. He may as well humour the mouthy git.

“Enough to get by,” he replied with a shrug. “I can always learn more if I have to.”

The hat hummed. 

“Someone you’re responsible for is in danger,” it said. “You can either go to them immediately, or wait for a more opportune moment. What do you do?”

Percival paused, his interest piqued a bit more by this question. It was tricky. 

Instinctually, he would want to go to the person, whoever they were. He’d want to get them out immediately. However if he’d learned anything over the years of listening to his father’s tales and studying the history of aurors, it was that rushing into situations was far more likely to get both the endangered and their saviour cut to ribbons. 

However waiting came with its own risks. He could wait too long. There could be  _ no _ opportune moment coming, just sand trickling through the glass. 

Ideally he’d have someone he could rely on. Then he could either go in and aid their person, or hang back and seek out weaknesses to exploit as they did. That came with dangers itself, but it also tipped the odds far more in their favour. 

None of this was answering the question, was it?

“Very interesting,” the hat hummed. 

“I’ve not decided yet,” Percival muttered, frowning. 

“And yet you’ve revealed so much,” the hat replied. “Tell me Graves, what’s more important: courage or loyalty?”

“Loyalty,” he replied, simply. He’d long held the opinion that courage was often born from loyalty anyway. It didn’t necessarily work the other way around.

“Cunning or hard work?”

“Hard work.” Again, a no-brainer.

“Intelligence or dedication?”

“Well, I would think you could become intelligent with dedication.”

“Oh dear,” the hat chuckled. “Professor Dumbledore seems to have lost his beater.”

“What?”

“Hufflepuff!”

“What?” Percival uttered, pushing up the rim of the hat to look over at the others. 

Dippet and Dumbledore both looked a bit surprised, though Dumbledore had the air of a man connecting the dots quite rapidly. 

His mother, however, was beaming. 

“That’s my boy,” she laughed, pressing a kiss to his brow. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented!

“This ought to take care of the worst of it,” said Madame Pitt as she pressed a vial of Murtlap Essence into Percival’s hand - the thick, yellow potion sloshing about lazily inside. Percival wrinkled his nose. He never understood why potioneers insisted on making stuff that was supposed to help you look disgusting, and stuff that could kill you look innocent. It defied logic in his opinion.

Madame Pitt cleared her throat pointedly, recapturing his attention.

“Sorry, Ma’am. Thank you,” Percival said, clutching the vial. 

The matron hummed, clearly none too impressed with him.

“You don’t require assistance-?”

“No Ma’am,” Percival said quickly, cringing a little as the woman’s nostrils flared a little at being interrupted. “Sorry Ma’am.”

Pitt hummed again. 

“Well, go and take care of yourself then. You can take one of the beds and get changed into your uniform while you’re at it,” she said, before spinning on her heel and marching down to her office at the end of the wing. 

Percival grimaced as he picked up the change of uniform he’d been given earlier and did as he was told. This hadn’t exactly gone the way he would have liked it to. Of course, ideally he’d have preferred not introduce himself to the school matron with requests for topical pain relief for mystery injuries in the first place (Morgana only knew what she must think). But he’d had no choice after being escorted there directly by Professor Dumbledore. He’d have rather just grit his teeth and dealt with the bruising until it went away to be perfectly honest.

Sighing he pulled the curtains around his borrowed bed set about his business regardless. There was little benefit in being difficult at this point anyway. Besides, it would piss Wilkins off if he wasn’t wincing every time he sat, in spite of his best efforts. 

With that thought in mind, he set about unstoppering the vial and, after tugging off his trousers, rubbing the ointment over the worst of the welts lining his arse and thighs.  _ Bloody Wilkins.  _

Once the sharp sting of the wounds eased to to a mere dull throbbing he tugged his boxers back up and set about pulling off his old uniform. The Hogwarts one looked a little less formal, so that was something. Though he was going to miss his waistcoat. 

Sighing he bunched up the blue and cranberry robes, dropping them on the bed before setting about sorting through his new set, only to jump when someone let out a low whistle behind him. 

He spun around, but nobody was there. 

“Who gave you a going over?” asked a voice from above. 

Frowning, Percival looked up and found a boy about his age, with light ginger hair and a spattering of freckles over his nose, peering over the top of the curtains. 

He flushed with embarrassment and indignation. 

“Were you watching me change?!” he snapped. 

“Nah, you had your knickers on when I looked over,” the boy replied, waving a hand. “Don’t get them in a twist.”

Percival huffed and turned back to grab his fresh pair of trousers, tugging them on with a pointed glare up at the kid, who was still leaning over the top of the curtains. 

“So, who whacked ya?” he asked, before grinning conspiratorially. “What did you do?”  

Percival sniffed, ignoring him. 

“Come on, mate. What did you do?” the kid snickered. 

“I punched in the wrong kid’s teeth. Do you really want to test me,  _ mate _ ?” Percival sneered. Perhaps it hadn’t gone down exactly like that but this guy didn’t know that. He wasn’t going to let himself get bullied on the first day just because he was the new kid. 

The kid smirked, before slipping back behind the curtains. 

That didn’t bode well. 

Cursing Percival quickly buttoned up his trousers as the thud of boots hitting the stone floor came from the other bed. He grabbed his wand from his own and whirled around just as the boy slipped past the curtains surrounding it. 

“Back off,” he growled, shifting so he was facing him side on, like his father had always taught him (“Make yourself less of a target.”). 

“Nice form,” the kid drawled. “But unless you want another whipping, you’d better not start throwing jinxes about the hospital wing.”

Percival snorted. 

“You reckon you’ll give me one, do you?” he snapped. 

“Sure, I could. But I  _ meant _ Madame Pitt. She’s a grumpy old thing,” he said with a shrug before wandering over to his bed and hopping up onto the edge of it, completely disregarding the wand that was still trained on him. 

He grabbed Percival’s school robes, or rather, his old robes, and held them aloft. 

“Illvermorny huh?”

“Give those back,” Percival snapped, snatching them away. 

“They don’t usually chuck people out. You beat up the Headmaster’s kid or something, tough guy?” Theseus drawled, brow quirked, though Percival detected a certain steel in his tone that hadn’t been there before. 

Lowering his wand (but keeping it in hand), he lifted his chin defiantly and replied, “Nephew, actually.”

“Nice of your mummy and daddy to get you enrolled here right away,” the kid said, a sneer curling his mouth. “Almost like the rules don’t apply to you, eh _?” _

Percival snarled back. 

“Watch what you say about my parents,” he said in a dangerous voice, eyes narrowing to slits. 

The kid smirked coldly, lifting his own chin. 

“Oh yeah?” he said, getting to his feet (and Percival was aggrieved to find the wanker had a couple of inches on him). “Well, just a word to the wise. If you were anyone important over here, I’d know you. And I don’t. Which means - if you go knocking about any of our firsties here in Hogwarts, there’s not much your Mummy and Daddy are gonna be able to do to stop me dropping you off the top of the astronomy tower.”

He jabbed a finger firmly in Percival’s chest. 

“Got me,  _ Tough Guy? _ ”

Percival glowered back, though his outrage was competing with utter confusion.

“What in the name of Deliverance Dane are you talking about?!” he huffed, poking the dickhead back. “I don’t knock about little kids.”

The other boy blinked once, visibly confused, before schooling his features into another ‘take a swing, I dare you’ kind of smirk a moment later.

“So your headmaster done you over like that for a normal fight did he?” he snorted disbelievingly. 

“No, he  _ did _ me over like this because I gave his  _ 18 year old _ nephew the going over he’s been asking for for years when I found him and his pals knocking about a 11 year old. And also because he’s as pleasant as a mountain troll with a hernia. Not that any of this is any of your business,” he snapped, shoving the kid away from him. “And a word of warning to  _ you _ . Accuse me of beating up on little kids again, and you and me are going to have a problem,  _ hero _ .”

The kid paused, eyeing him up steadily. Percival grit his teeth, his hands balling up into fists at his sides as he stubbornly held his ground. He wasn’t going to step back, so he’d have to take the punch to the chin if it came and content himself with returning the favour as quickly as pos-

“Ah, well, looks like I might have jumped the wand a bit then,” said the other boy, and Mercy Lewis he was smiling again! Getting a read on this guy was as easy as tracking a damn snitch!

Huffing grumpily, Percival eyed him a moment longer. 

“No kidding,” he grumbled, holding his ground until the other boy stepped back instead. Only then did he go back to getting dressed.

“Is it normal for you to go around threatening to drop people off of towers?” he sniffed as he tugged on his shirt.

“Nah. Normally I say I’ll knock ‘em off one of the staircase when it’s moving,” the kid drawled. 

Percival snorted at that, before pausing, and shooting a quick glance over his shoulder. 

“So… they actually move?”

The boy grinned, thrusting his hand out to him. 

“Theseus Scamander,” he announced. 

Percival arched his brow at the hand, before sighing and turning back to face the kid,  _ Theseus _ , properly. He probably shouldn’t start off at his new school by making enemies, if he could avoid it. 

“Percival Graves,” he said, taking the other boy’s hand and shaking it firmly. 

Theseus nodded back before wandering over to lean back against Percival’s bed. 

“So, Illvermorny, huh?” he drawled, with the air of someone who knew he’d just made a bit of an arse of himself and wanted to move the conversation swiftly along. 

Percival wasn’t in a particularly accommodating mood, but hummed all the same. 

“Yeah. You know much about it?”

“Not too much. Basic history, the houses, that’s about it,” Theseus said with a shrug. “What were you? House-wise I mean.”

“Wampus,” Percival replied, the familiar pride of that placement mingling with a newfound sense of loss. “Warrior’s house.”

“Eh, that fits,” Theseus chuckled. “So you’re a gryffindor now then, huh? That’s  _ our _ warrior house. Looks like we’ll be dorming together. Probably shouldn’t have threatened to drop you off the astronomy tower, eh? Could just push you out a window in the common room instead. Much more convenient.”

“Hilarious,” Percival drawled, rolling his eyes, before pulling the black and gold tie from his bundle of robes and jumpers. “But no can do.”

Theseus laughed loudly. 

“You’re kidding?!”

Percival sniffed. 

“You got a problem with that?”

Theseus waved his hand placatingly, before leaning back against the bed once more. 

“Nah nah, my little brother’s in your house,” he replied. “Just looks like I  _ really _ misjudged you, that’s all.”

“Oh?”

“Hufflepuff’s are sorta the… how do I put it… the nice guys of the school,” Theseus replied, shrugging. “Tougher than people give them credit for, I’ll give you that. So you’re probably a good fit. But when people think about fighters, they usually think Gryffindor.”

“Yes, I’m getting that impression,” Percival muttered as he did up his tie. “The sorting hat seemed pretty… well, thorough though.”

Theseus shrugged. 

“I’d trust it,” he said. “Particularly seeing as you just took it at, what are you, 16?”

“17.”

“There you are then. The rest of us were lil squirty first years when we got sorted. So you got some right cowards swanning around in Gryffindor, a couple of hero’s in Slytherin too, not that they’ll probably ever get much credit for it, poor guys. And the moron’s Ravenclaw can turn out, you won’t believe,” he drawled, rolling his eyes dramatically. “They say that their intelligence is  _ focused in a specialised subject _ , you’ll notice that, they say it a lot - but you’ll also notice they never tell you what that specialised subject is.”

Percival scoffed softly at that and shook his head. 

“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” he muttered, pulling on his jumper. 

“Do,” Theseus said, nodding, before eyeing him once more. 

After a long moment, he cleared his throat, pushing off the bed to stand in front of him once again. 

“I’m sorry, for what I accused you of before,” he said resolutely. “I jumped to conclusions and made an arse of myself… I do that sometimes.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

“I can’t stand bullies. Particularly ones that pick on smaller kids.”

Percival’s brow quirked once again. 

“Personal experience?” he asked. 

Theseus shrugged. 

“In a sense,” he said, before pressing on dutifully. “I shouldn’t have had a go at you without all the facts. I apologise”

Percival eyed the other boy skeptically for a long moment. He really did seem remorseful. 

Shaking his head he stepped forward. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “I’d have probably done the same if you came to my school and I thought what you thought. Can’t get too mad at a guy for standing up to bullying bastards.”

He smiled and offered Theseus his hand once again. 

“Apology accepted.”

Theseus grinned and shook his hand once again, before freezing, then cursing quietly and leaping onto the bed.

“What are you-”

“I didn’t do my History of Magic homework. I need to wait out the period. Play along,” Theseus hissed as the telltale clicking of the matron’s heels grew louder somewhere behind them. 

Percival arched his brow as the boy promptly flung an arm over his face and groaned mournfully. 

“Scamander, what do you think you’re doing?” Madam Pitt asked sternly as she tugged open the curtains around their bed. 

“Madame Pitt? Is that you?!” Theseus very nearly sobbed, reaching out to a spot about a metre or two to the woman’s left. “Ms, I don’t feel at all well! I’m so cold.”

Percival shot a skeptical glance between a suddenly rather pitiful looking Theseus and a decidedly unconvinced looking Madame Pitt. 

“Is that right?” the old witch drawled. “What are you doing out of your bed?”

“Is this not my bed?” Theseus uttered, rolling his head this way and that. “I’m so confused. My head feels like there’s a thundercloud inside.”

Percival quickly set about pulling on his jumper in an effort to hide his grin. 

“I think I see that light,” Theseus insisted weepily (Percival thought he might be overselling it a bit now).

Madame Pitt, on the other hand, was nodding along quite seriously. Surely she couldn’t be buying it!

“Well then it’s just as I suspected,” she said solemnly. “A nasty case of _ Black Cat Flu _ .”

Theseus paused. Cracking open one of the eyes he’d moments ago had screwed shut in apparent agony, he asked “...What would that entail exactly?”

“It starts off simple enough. Headaches, nausea, chills and sudden onset blindness,” Madame Pitt replied grimly (and Percival could see Theseus ticking each symptom off a mental  _ ‘Can Fake _ ’ list). “And then of course as it develops, it gets more serious. You’ll have splitting headaches, and agonising back pain. You may experience abdominal pains as black fur begins to form and gather in your stomach, but there is some relief from the discomfort if you can find some way to expel it. Usually by way of coughing up furballs. And then, of course, there’s the matter of it being quite contagious. I’ll have to keep you here right through the weekend I expect. You certainly can’t go to quidditch practice.”

Theseus wrinkled his nose a little. 

“Could it be anything else?” he asked. “I mean I’m seeing quite well.”

“They always do, at the start. I’d best go set up a bed for you in the quarantine suite. You’ll be on broth until the worst of it passes I’m afraid.”

Theseus paused a moment longer, before sighing and sitting up, all traces of his earlier  _ illness _ vanishing. 

“I’m not committed enough to this con.”

“Get out,” Madame Pitt huffed. “You too Graves. Surely you both have classes-”

The bell rang through the halls cutting her off and prompting a wide grin to spread across Theseus’ face. 

“Come on,  _ Tough Guy _ . Let’s go get some grub,” he drawled, nudging Percival’s arm companionably before hastily leading the way out of the hospital wing. 


End file.
